I hope you’re all well, and welcome to The Tinder Diaries Part 5; if you’re new here, or reading this series for the first time, then I’ve basically been writing a blog series where I’ve recorded my experiences of Tinder, dating and all that jazz. There’s 4 posts already live in the series on my blog, and I’d definitely recommend having a read of those first if you haven’t done…not to toot my own horn or anything, but people seem to be enjoying them, so hopefully you will too.
ANYWAY, I did a poll on Twitter (@btongirlprobs if you’d like to follow me on there), asking whether you’d like me to veer off the track a bit and include an old Tinder date I went on in these Tinder diaries. 93% of you voted yes, so here we are. Today, I am sharing with you the first ever Tinder date I went on back in 2016, as a bit of a throwback Thursday for you all.
Luke was 26 and from Kent; to be honest, I don’t know why I’d put my location radius up so high, as if I can’t get a man in Brighton to commit to me, I’m certainly not going to get someone to who lives an hour and a half away in light traffic.
He was shit at texting first of all; I understand people work and have busy lives, but the quickest he’d ever reply to a text was about 7 hours later, so it was difficult to have a flowing conversation. How can we discuss the programme that’s on at 9pm on Channel 4 if by the time you reply, Good Morning Britain is on TV?
On the day of the date, I was disgustingly hungover, which was my first mistake. I’d been out in London the night before, still been drunk on the train home with my friends at 10am, and spent the day crying in bed into a Dominos garlic and herb dip. I desperately wanted to cancel, but he was driving down to see me and I didn’t want to let him down. Oh, how I wish I’d let him down.
I’d committed to a mammoth date which was my second mistake; drinks, then ice skating, then dinner, then maybe more drinks. I understood he was driving an hour and a half to see me, but did we really need such a long first date? Especially when all I wanted to do was sleep for 18 hours, waking only to eat a Wagamama takeaway.
We met in a bar for the first part of the 126 hour date, and he was very tall and good looking and well dressed so first impressions were good. We sat down and I got my glasses out to look at the cocktail menu, which is when the good first impression he’d made 34 seconds ago, died an early death.
‘Where are your glasses from?’ he asked me.
‘Specsavers’, I responded.
‘Pffft, Specsavers? Really? Mine are Tom Ford’ he replied.
He pulled his own glasses out, which were near enough identical to mine, and started to tell me in great detail how much they cost, and had he mentioned they were Tom Ford? Tom Ford is a very expensive designer, did I know that?
‘I actually got mine from the £25 rack at Spec Savers’ I told him; I already knew that there was no way I was ever going to end up with this absolute tool, so I may as well try and wind him up a bit. He would probably be texting his friends under the table any minute, telling them that I was his ‘bit of rough’ because I hadn’t spent £400 on my glasses.
We finished our drinks (by this point, I needed vodka injecting directly into my veins through an IV drip to deal with his incessant bragging about everything) and started walking towards the ice skating rink at the Pavilion.
Now, I like to get dressed up, especially for a date. I like to do my makeup, my nails, and my hair. So this is why, Luke’s next actions, incited a rage inside me.
Luke decided to ruffle my hair. Repeatedly. We were walking alongside each other; he was very tall, well over 6 foot, and I am 5’5, so he was in perfect reach to touch the top of my head. The first time he did it we were talking about something, and he just leaned over and ruffled my hair, quite roughly to be honest. I was actually in shock, because the last time someone ruffled my hair I was about 4. I didn’t say anything, thinking maybe he’d…done it by accident? Can you reach out and do something like that by accident?
He then did it two more times in the space of about 60 seconds; it seemed the pattern was whenever I said something slightly amusing, he ruffled my hair as a way of saying ‘Congratulations! You just said something funny’.
‘Sorry, do you mind not doing that? I don’t really like people ruffling my hair…’ I said.
In response to this, he started laughing…and ruffled my hair again.
By this point we were at the ice rink collecting our tickets, and I was thinking ‘Fuck my life; I’m hungover, he thinks I’m below him because I don’t own any Tom Ford reading glasses, he’s ruffled my hair 4 times and I’ve still got 89 hours of this date left to go’.
After entering The Arena (yes, I’m going to call it The Arena to sound dramatic, because it was fucking traumatic), he was instantly annoying me but constantly snapchatting everything. Sorry, Luke, but are we or are we not on an actual date right now? We aren’t best friends, we aren’t a couple, we are on a date, and to be honest, you’re not doing too well hun.
Luke was a more confident skater than me; he took this as though he should grab onto me, and fling me around the ice. When I say fling, I mean fling. Pulling me left right and centre, twirling me, gripping my arm so that I couldn’t escape and then skating so fast I was nearly on my arse.
I repeatedly told him that I wasn’t a very good skater and that we may need to slow down, but he seemed to think it was a massive game, and was hysterically laughing and telling me how much fun he was having. THIS IS NOT DANCING ON ICE, I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL SKATER, I AM THE LEAST ATHLETIC HUMAN IN THE WORLD AND I AM SCARED FOR MY WELFARE RIGHT NOW.
With one final twirl at 100mph, that was all my legs could take; I face planted in the centre of the ice rink, hard, ripping my jeans open at the knees, and cutting my knees open, and my hands.
‘What the FUCK is wrong with you?’ I shrieked, trying to stem the actual flow of my own BLOOD out of my knees.
Luke was nearly in tears of laughter by this point, and took a Snapchat of my blood soaked knees with the caption ‘Man down haha!’. I started gently skating off the ice, clutching onto the side, trying not to bend my legs which were now in agony. Luke, the massive prick, tried to grab my hand and pull me back into the centre of the ice again.
‘GET OFF OF ME’ I basically screamed in his face, finally off the ice and stomping back to the locker part of the rink to get my own shoes back.
‘So, where are we going for dinner then?’ he asked.
I stared at him, absolutely baffled, as I held a wad of tissues to my cut open legs and hands.
‘Errr…we’re not?’ I retorted, confused about why this complete and utter irritating specimen actually thought I was going to sit across a table with him and share garlic bread after what had just happened. He had just ruined my Topshop Joni Jeans. I was not interested in the soup of the day and gazing at each other over candelight anymore.
‘Oh come on, we said we were going for dinner! Sorry you fell over, let’s go for dinner, you can choose wherever you want to go’.
I sat there mulling it over for a second; I was starving, and I was pissed off and it was cold; he was going to be difficult to shake off I could tell, a bit like a particularly nasty Winter flu, so it was in my best interests to just get the dinner out the way and then make a swift exit.
I picked my favourite restaurant because I was not in the best of moods and I needed something to cheer me up. On our way there, Luke decided that he had a death wish.
‘Aww, clumsy aren’t you!’ he chuckled to himself, reaching over to…wait for it…RUFFLE MY FUCKING HAIR.
‘Can you stop…ruffling…my…HAIR’ I growled at him through gritted teeth, deciding if he touched my head one more time I was going to swing for him.
We arrived at the restaurant, and for some reason it was literally empty…I think there was one couple in the corner and that was it, meaning that it was basically silent, so I didn’t even have noise or other people as a distraction. No, as luck would have it, it was just me and Bellend Luke, with only each other for company.
Luke had an issue with the menu (I had to stop myself from suggesting he eat himself, as he seemed to love himself so much), with the cutlery, with the design of the restaurant, with the staff…he actually seemed to have an issue with absolutely everything and everyone but himself, which was strange as he was a massive twat.
He sat on his phone whilst we were eating (I don’t know if the fact I’d already bled on this date has distracted you from the fact that this was a FIRST DATE, and he was definitely not adhering to first date conduct).
He actually informed me halfway through that he just needed to place a quick football bet…by this point I’d all but stabbed myself in the eyes with my fork (which was not to his standard), and so I didn’t even say anything but grunt in acknowledgment. I needed this date to end, I needed to go home, have a stiff drink and a boiling hot shower and cleanse my soul, and erase all memory of this truly horrific outing.
To say that nothing ended up becoming of me and Luke would be an understatement; I mean, when you literally cut your legs open on a first date, it’s not really a good omen, is it?
I hope you enjoyed this wonderful first date story, and if it’s put you off ever going on another Tinder date, I don’t blame you.
I will see you soon where I will update you all on VAT Adam.
All my love BGP xx